After Rehearsal

Gleam-black beetles crinkle over the night-sidewalk
Seeking my brown shoes for shelter
From the orange light-throb.
The night is a sound-slate, black with silence
Ready to be filled with psalms
And the joy of sheer isness.
Measured step by purposed tread,
I wander home
Through fog and silent streets.
Echo claps back my shoebeat,
A pulse in the solitude.
I accompany myself.
Haydn rises to my beetle-audience.
I wonder if they hear me,
I wonder if later they will dance
As heaven’s music sinks into their tiny brains.

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